


It's just you and I tonight

by Ship_theboybands



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, anyways calum likes michael a lot but also he's a dumb boy, bc ur some kind of machoist, breif mentions of kid!malum, don't read this for the mirry bc harry is basically just a sad little asshole here, like i love mirry a lot don't read this for the mirry, thats it, unless you like pathetic!harry/ hurt!michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ship_theboybands/pseuds/Ship_theboybands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to sneak out on Sunday nights after dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just you and I tonight

They used to sneak out on Sunday nights after dark.

When the sun sank low into the earth and the sky started to turn purple, their parents would tell them goodnight. They would each lay in their beds and watch the clock on the wall tick tick until twelve o’clock and then they would slide open their windows, pull the flashlights from under their pillows, and make their way down to the park. Michael would climb under the crack in his garden fence, and Calum would run silently past the front of his house, and they would meet on the bench by the fountains that light up every night.

Sunday night was their last night of freedom before school again on Monday, and at thirteen years old it was the most heartstopping adventure they could go on.

Miraculously, they were never caught by either of their parents. Calum’s big sister caught him sneaking back home once, one foot out the window and the other on his bedroom floor, but he just told her he’d felt ill and needed fresh air. Calum could tell she hadn’t bought it, but she was kind of a badass, so she acted like she had.

They never did anything that exciting at first; sneaking out at midnight and sitting on a park bench together was exciting enough for a while, but when they started getting older it began to feel a little lame. They started wandering further into town, or going to skip stones on the lake. One night Michael nicked some of his dad’s whiskey and poured it into a Power Rangers water bottle, and they each grimaced around it until they’d drunk enough so they could add water to make it more bearable. They didn’t get drunk, gave up on it about halfway through and bought some Lilt from a gas station instead, but it still felt ridiculously cool.

And they would talk. They would talk for hours about everything and nothing and girls and boys and fears and dreams and they’d look up at the stars and probably not remember half of what they’d said in the morning.  
The best part about Sunday nights was that they never told anyone about it. They didn’t brag to their friends, or invite girls. Sunday night was their night.

Eventually Sunday Nights started to become less frequent. It felt like every spare moment was used up in band practice, or in trying to write a new song. And then there were Ashton and Luke on Monday afternoon asking why they were so tired, why neither of them could rehearse this Sunday, and eventually they just stopped. There was no grand, final Sunday night, because they hadn’t realised it was their last, but Calum thinks he likes it better that way.

And now they’re back from tour, and it’s the first night they’ve been home in so long, and Calum thinks _fuck it_ because it’s a Sunday night.  
He shoots Michael a text and then he’s rooting around under his bed for a flashlight even though his phone would do just fine. He sits on his bed, and watches the clock, and waits until midnight.

“Hey,” Michael smiles, perched on the bench which is still there, next to the fountain which still lights up, and he’s fiddling with the flashlight on the end of his keychain, and it’s like nothing’s changed. (Except maybe Michael’s hair color).  
“Hey,” Calum smiles, sitting next to him on the bench. He expects Michael to question it, ask him if he realises that they haven’t hung out on a Sunday night in over a year, but he just pulls a couple of bottles of Lilt from his pockets and starts off on some random theory about the universe. And it’s like they pick up right where they left off.

The next day Ashton is mad at them for being so tired.

“Can you assholes just focus for five minutes?” He asks exasperatedly, throwing a popcorn kernel at Michael’s head. It hits him between the eyes and leaves a tiny dusting of salt along his nose that Calum can’t take his eyes off, and it’s weird.

“Hey! Why don’t you throw popcorn at Calum?” Michael asks.

“Because Calum provided the popcorn and I am not the kind of cowboy who uses a man’s own sword against him,” Ashton says loftily, “Now, as I was saying, we need to make sure the album is art.”

But Calum barely hears any of it, his eyes caught on the way Michael is struggling to rub the salt off his forehead, his fingers leaving a slight red mark against his pale skin from rubbing at it. Michael puts his fingers to his lips, and licks a long stripe of salt off his thumb, and Calum has the strangest urge to climb into his lap and help him. Which, woah, that is totally not cool and is very weird and strange, and Calum hastily excuses himself to the bathroom.

“What the fuck?” he asks the reflection in his mirror, but he just stares back at him with the same wide eyes and uncomfortable boner. He closes his eyes, wills his erection away, splashes cold water on his face, and takes a deep breath. Michael is his friend. Michael is his best friend, and they had such a good night last night, and it is _totally normal_ to have feelings like that about your friends. It’s just got something to do with how much he cares about him, or something. Besides, Calum hasn’t had sex in, like, two months, so it’s not his fault he’s a little… frustrated.

“Everything is normal and fine,” he tells mirror!Calum, who looks extremely unconvinced.

“You okay in there?” Luke asks suddenly from the other side of the door, and Calum jumps in surprise, bashing his elbow on the sink.

“Shit, fuck, I’m fine! Everything’s fine!,” he yells, pulling the door open to a bemused looking Luke, “why wouldn’t I be fine? Do I come across as someone who’s not fine? Everything is normal and fine.”

“...If you say so,” Luke nods, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh, “um, I need to pee, so if you’re done talking to yourself…”

“I wasn’t,” Calum says quickly, and Luke raises an eyebrow “I,um, I just…”

“I’m gonna pee now,” Luke says, brushing past Calum and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Everything is normal and fine,” he assures, the hint of a smile on his lips, and Calum sticks his tongue out at him as Luke dissolves into a fit of giggles.

“Asshole,” Calum mumbles as he makes his way back into the sitting room. And then he has to catch his breath because Michael is falling asleep on the couch and he looks so soft and cute and sleepy ,and nothing is normal _or_ fine.

“You took ages,” Michael mumbles, opening one eye, “were you doing a shit?”

“No,” Calum says, but he takes a second too long to reply, and then Ashton is crooning.

“He did! He totally took a shit!”

“Hey, it’s my house, I can take a shit whenever I want! It’s a basic human function!”

“Yeah, but it’s kinda rude to shit when you have guests over,” Michael teases, sitting up to make room for Calum on the couch.

“I didn’t even do a shit though!” Calum complains, joining Michael on the coach.

“Then why were you so defensive about your pooping rights?” Ashton questions.

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Calum declares, and it’s so easy to just forget. Because these are his best friends, and it’s normal, and everything’s fine.

If he snuggles up to Michael on the sofa a little closer than necessary, then the only witnesses are Ashton and Luke, and they don’t even seem to notice.

It feels like they’ve barely been home at all before they’re heading off on tour again. It’s exciting and everything, but Calum can’t help feeling a little bitter. It was so nice to be home, and to fall into his old routine again. Eating with his family, hanging out with his friends, band practice, soccer, and Sunday Nights. He supposes they won't be able to keep hanging out on Sunday nights when they’re back on tour again. Too busy, and tired, and probably sleeping on a moving bus. It’s the last Sunday Night they’re going to have before they leave, and he and Michael are laying in the grass behind their bench, staring up at the stars like they’re in a movie.

“I kind of don’t want to go,” Calum admits, rubbing a piece of grass between his thumb and finger.

“Really?” Michael asks, sounding a little concerned, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at Calum.

“No,” Calum says, “I don’t know. I mean, I love touring and everything, I’ve just had such a nice time being home again, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Michael says, flopping down again, and he lands a little closer to Calum so that their shoulders and knees are touching, “I’m so excited though. Like, everything seems so small here compared to when we’re touring. It’s nice for a while, but I’m kind of bored.”

“You’re bored?” Calum asks, trying to mask the hurt from his voice.

“No, that’s the wrong word,” Michael amends quickly, “I’m, like, happy and everything, I just-- This is the thing we’ve been dreaming about, you know? And i just want to get out there and start living it again.”

“I had a dream about you last night,” Calum says, randomly, because he’s tired, and because this is their last Sunday Night maybe ever.

“Oh yeah? What happened?” Michael asks, a smile in his voice.

“Not a lot,” Calum smiles, turning so he’s facing Michael, and Michael does the same. Both their knees are touching now, and Calum is struck with the sudden thought that he could kiss Michael right now. He could lean over, and kiss him. His mouth goes dry.

“Was it a good dream?” Michael asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It was the best,” Calum admits, because it had been. They’d been on a boat, and Calum had felt sea sick, and so Michael had held him. They had lain in a bed which was soft, and Michael had sung in his ear. It was so nice.

“Good,” Michael says, and then he’s yawning right in Calum’s face. A surprised burst of laughter spills from his lips like something Calum wants to drink and then he’s sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“We should get some sleep, we’re leaving at, like, piss o’clock in the morning tomorrow.”

“Is that what it said in Ashton’s text?” Calum asks, looking up at Michael, and the lights from the fountain are making his skin glow, “Bus leaves at piss o’clock in the morning?”

“Exactly.” Michael smiles and then he’s standing up, and offering Calum a hand. He has such a pretty smile. Calum takes his hand, and pulls himself up, and then something in him doesn’t want to let go. Michael’s hands are warm, and soft, and he just stands there for a second like an idiot before he laces their fingers together. Michael smiles, quiet, and small, and neither of them mention it.

Calum lets himself get distracted by playing shows, and long bus journeys with his best mates, and bone tired exhaustion. Touring is a pretty good distraction, but it turns out to be so good that he doesn’t even realise something’s going on between Michael and Harry until it is literally shoved into his face.

“Oh. Sorry,” he says, instead of backing silently out of the room where Michael and Harry are sharing a gentle kiss. They both spring apart immediately and the look on Harry’s face is almost comical.

“We weren’t, um, this wasn’t what it looks like,” he stammers, sounding very British and concerned. “I’m straight.”

Michael looks like he wants to face palm, and Calum nods slowly.

“Okay, dude, whatever you say,” he says, because he thought he was straight too until he started having kind of feelings for Michael. Which he’s just acknowledged; and it’s okay. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna leave. But Michael, we have to be on stage in, like, ten minutes,” he says.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second,” Michael sighs, giving him an embarrassed little smile, and then Calum has closed the door. He can’t make his feet work, though, so he just stands there like a weird creepy creep.

“Why are you lurking outside Harry’s dressing room?” Luke whispers right in his ear, and Calum has a mini heart attack.

“Jesus, Luke, fucking warn a guy.” He curses quietly, clutching his chest. Luke laughs silently for a few minutes before wrapping an arm round Calum’s neck. “Come on, we have to be in the wings, like, right now,” he says.

“Did you know Michael and Harry were, like... whatever?” Calum asks, letting himself be led by Luke.

“What, fucking? Yeah, I thought everyone knew.” Luke frowns. And ouch, Calum’s chest feels like it's actually shrinking around his heart.

“I didn’t,” he says pathetically, and Luke gives him a worried look.  
“It’s... I don’t think it means anything. Like, Harry’s still convinced he’s straight, so...” Luke trails off.

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Calum nods, looking at his shoes.

“Wait, did you walk in on them?” Luke asks, coming to a stop suddenly. 

Calum looks up from his shoes and into Luke’s concerned face.

“They were just kissing.” He shrugs, but he sounds utterly crestfallen even to his own ears.

“Are you… okay?” Luke asks, clearly confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s fine,” Calum tries to sound a little more sure of himself.

“Sure it is,” Luke nods, looking at him sympathetically, before pulling him into a hug.

“Everything’s fine,” Calum repeats into Luke’s shoulder, but it’s kind of not.

The next night it’s a Sunday, and the clock on Calum’s phone tells him it’s exactly midnight when Michael climbs into his bunk.

“What’re you doing?” Michael asks, and Calum sits up to make room for him.

“Just playing Happy Jump,” he admits, and Michael hums, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder and watching him play in silence. The next time he dies he passes the phone to Michael who beats his high score easily.  
“It’s really sad how good you are at iPhone games,” Calum whispers, his voice sounding fond and ridiculous.

“It’s sad how tiny your dick is,” Michael mumbles, not taking his eyes off the screen. His tongue is poking out of the side of his mouth a little in concentration, and Calum has never wanted to kiss someone more.

“So,” he says, when Michael dies and passes him the phone, “You and Harry,”

Michael sighs, and he looks so pale in the light of only Calum’s phone. They go over a bump and the whole bus judders, nudging them closer together.

“Me and Harry,” Michael repeats. He’s so close Calum can feel his breath against his own skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Calum asks.

“Harry doesn't want people to know,” Michael says, fiddling with a loose thread on the sheets.

“Everyone else knows, apparently,” Calum grumbles, “no one thought to tell me.”

“I kind of thought you knew.” Michael shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Calum says. The bus jolts again, and the backs of their hands bash together, so Calum turns their palms together and links their fingers, “I think I’ve been kind of oblivious.”

“I should have told you, though. We’re meant to tell each other everything,” Michael insists.  
Calum swallows down the words _I have a secret, too_ and rests his head on top of Michael’s.

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” he says into Michael’s hair.

They both start to doze off after a while, until the bus halting abruptly wakes them up.

“I’ll see you at piss o’clock, then,” Michael smiles, before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek that Calum can’t promise he didn’t imagine and disappearing into his own bed.

Calum stays awake for a long time after that.

Things come to a head on the last night of the tour. No one can find Michael or Harry for an hour, and 5sos were meant to be onstage five minutes ago. Finally, a shaky looking Michael appears at the side of the stage.

“Where were you?” Luke asks at the same time as Calum says, “What happened?” But then they’re being ushered onstage to a crowd of impatient teenage girls and Michael looks like he’s going to burst into tears. They get through most of the set just fine until Teenage Dream starts up. Michael gets to the end of his solo sounding a little wobbly before he turns away from the audience and bursts into tears.  
They all manage to keep playing, but Ashton looks about ready to abandon his drums and shut down the whole show just to give Michael a bear hug. He looks so sad, and pretty, and Calum wants to punch something. Michael pulls himself together before the end of the song, and they finish the set.

As soon as they’re offstage Ashton is tugging Michael into the dressing room, Luke and Calum close behind.  
“Ended it with Harry,” Michael shrugs, when they’re all alone together. 

Calum knows he should probably be pleased about this news, but Michael just looks so sad and small that it’s hard to feel anything but worry.

“Why?” Ashton asks, after a moment of silence where no one knows what to say.

“I, uh, I guess I misread the situation. I thought we were, y’know, exclusive, and it turns out we weren’t.” Michael shrugs again, trying to feign nonchalance, but the look on his face gives him away.

“He’s been fucking other people?” Luke asks incredulously.

“Yeah, he, um,” Michael’s eyes start to water, and he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mumbles, before continuing. “He kind of told me he loved me, like, last week. And then straight after he started freaking out, and assuring me that he’s not gay. And then before the show he just came up to me and started, like, telling me about all the girls he’s been with while we were, y’know...”

He’s crying now, and Calum wraps him up in the fiercest hug he can manage without hurting Michael.

“What an asshole,” Ashton says, wrapping his arms around Michael as well, closely followed by Luke, “Harry is a fucking asshole, Mike, and you deserve better.”

“Shit,” Michael says around a little sob and then he’s hiccuping and crying into Calum’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Calum whispers, his voice shaking.

“Don’t,” Michael asks, squeezing Calum even harder.

“Okay,” Calum assures him. “Okay.”

Calum finds Harry, that night. When all the other boys are heading back to the bus. He says he’s going to the toilet, and he waits in Harry’s dressing room for him to come off stage. It’s insanely cliche, and Calum wants to roll his eyes at himself, but every litre of blood in his body is boiling.  
Harry jumps when he opens the door and sees Calum perched on the table in front of his mirror.

“S’pose you’re here to beat me up then?” Harry asks, and he doesn’t sound particularly scared, just sounds tired. He has huge bags under his eyes, and he looks paperthin under the harsh lighting. He looks kind of like a sad puppy.

“That was the plan,” Calum admits, feeling his anger subside slightly at the sorry state Harry’s in.

“I know I fucked him over,” Harry sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to be apologising to,” Calum snaps.

“I know,” Harry sighs. There’s an awkward moment of silence before Calum crosses his arms across his chest and slumps against the desk. 

“Aren’t you going to hit me?” Harry asks.

“You’re a coward, you know that?” Calum replies, instead of answering his question.

“Yeah, and you’re kind of a hypocrite,” Harry shrugs, and Calum punches him in the stomach.  
“You deserved that,” Calum says, and Harry nods from where he’s hunched over himself. Calum huffs before jumping up to sit on the counter again. Harry stumbles over to a chair opposite Calum and flops down.

“I never… he didn’t deserve to get hurt. He deserves better, and I’m sorry. I just, I’ve been telling myself I’m straight for years, you know? And then this one kid just comes along and it’s like I can’t keep lying, you know? I’m just scared,” He says, looking at his hands.

“Well you need to tell him that,” Calum grumbles, “you need to let him go and stop pulling him into your shit.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. There’s another awkward silence in which Calum considers punching Harry again. “Promise you won’t hit me again?” Harry asks.

“I’m not making any promises,” Calum answers, and Harry sighs.

“You should tell him you love him,” Harry says. “He deserves someone good, you know. And you’re good. You’d take care of him.”

Calum opens his mouth to reply but finds he has nothing to say. He gets up to leave but turns around at the doorway. “If you haven’t apologised to him before we leave I’ll break your nose,” he says truthfully.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Harry says, sounding very British and young and sad.

“You know you’ve got nothing to be scared of right?” Calum says, because if he doesn't tell Harry this he’s scared no one ever will. “If anyone has a problem with you being gay, or bi, or whatever you are, then they’re a fucking asshole and you’re better off without them anyway.”

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Calum snips, “you’re still a dick,” before turning his back on him.

“You didn’t actually kill him did you?” Luke whispers as soon as Calum gets back to the bus, and Calum shakes his head.

“I punched him in the stomach, but he’s kind of punishing himself enough.” Calum grimaces. “Where’s Mike?”

“Him and Ashton are watching Forrest Gump on his laptop,” Luke says, motioning to Ashton’s bunk. Calum nods and goes to climb in with them.  
“Hey, are you okay?” Luke asks first, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine,” Calum says.

The next morning there’s a little party in the 1D bus to celebrate the end of the tour. Harry takes Michael aside as soon as they arrive, and Calum gives him a stern look, motioning to his nose.

All of One Direction make speeches, and Harry goes last. Michael comes up behind Calum and hooks his chin over his shoulder

“You okay there?” Calum asks, linking his and Michael’s hands together and giving his fingers a little squeeze.

“Not really,” Michael says honestly, “but I will be.”

Calum kisses him on the cheek, and wraps an arm around his shoulders, cuddling him close.

They sit together on the plane home, and share headphones. Calum leans against the window, and Michael leans against Calum, and they watch the rain splatter against the glass relentlessly.

“I think I was stupid,” Michael says suddenly, and Calum turns to look at him.

“What?” he asks.

“I just-- why would I get involved with someone who wouldn’t admit they weren’t straight, you know?” Michael says, eyes still trained on the window.

“Michael, you can’t possibly blame yourself for what--”

“Yes I can,” Michael says, “yes I fucking can because he… okay, I knew what I was getting into. And I still got into it. And I convinced myself that it was more than it was--”

“He told you he loved you, Michael. You didn’t kid yourself into thinking he cared about you, because he did. I think he really did.” Calum says honestly.

“What-- are you… like, defending him?” Michael asks, sitting up abruptly like Calum’s burned him.

“No! Michael, he was a total asshole, okay? He’s a fucking scared little child who behaved horrendously and treated you terribly, but he did love you. He probably still does love you, you know? It’s just… this wasn’t your fault, is what I’m trying to say.” Calum sighs.

“Was… is that meant to make me feel better?” Michael asks, a hint of anger slipping into his voice.  
“No… I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Calum bites his lip, because of course he’s put his foot in his mouth, and Michael deflates.

“I just… I thought maybe he’d change. I thought maybe I was enough,” he says, so quietly Calum would miss it if their heads weren’t pressed so close together.

“I’m so sorry,” Calum says, resting his head on top of Michael’s.

“Me too,” Michael sniffs.

The first week back home Calum realises what Michael meant about everything being small here. Everything seems to move far too slowly, and he’s constantly brimming with energy. By the time Sunday night rolls around he’s about ready to jump out of his skin.

 _we’re meeting at the bench, right?_ he texts Michael, looking through his wardrobe for something that isn't trackies and a v neck.  
 _yup_ Michael replies because he is adorable.

Calum brings vodka in a Power Rangers water bottle, even though he’s old enough now to buy his own, and they pass it between them in an uncertain silence. It’s almost as if they’ve forgotten how to do Sunday Nights.

“You’re such a dick,” Michael says suddenly.

“What?” Calum asks, and Michael stands up abruptly, heading to leave. 

“What the fuck? Michael come back!”

“No, okay, you talk all this shit about ‘Harry’s a coward’, and ‘you deserve better’, and it’s like, you’re just the same!”  
“How the- how the _fuck_ can you compare me to him?” Calum asks, his voice shaking with anger.

“Because! You hold my hand, and you sneak out with me every Sunday night to look at the fucking stars, but every time I think you’re gonna kiss me you just fuck off and start acting weird!” Michael shouts, and some seam just tore in Calum’s stomach or something because it feels like every breath of air just got knocked out of him.  
  
“What?” Calum says intelligently, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. “That’s not fair, I’m sorry, I just… I’ve been waiting for, like five years for you to finally come to terms with your feelings, or whatever, and I’m getting kind of tired. So at this point you can either decide you want to be with me or you can stop stringing me along like some--”

And then Calum is kissing him, and every single part of him is on fire. Michael makes a desperate noise, something like _finally_ , but it’s muffled by Calum’s lips. And then Michael is pulling away, and everything is cold again.

“I’m not… I just got out of a shitty relationship, okay? And I...” Michael says, and he sounds like he’s got more to say but then he’s kissing Calum again, his hands buried deep in his hair, and Calum wraps his arms fully around Michael’s waist, so there is no space left between their bodies, and Calum doesn’t know where he ends and Michael begins. It’s all so suddenly crystal clear that this is where he belongs. Sunday Nights, and stupid jokes, and Michael’s soft fingers slotting perfectly into Calum’s, and kissing Michael, and _Michael_. They break for air, still pressed airtight together, foreheads resting against each other.  
“I’m scared… I’m scared of getting hurt again,” Michael says between breaths, and their faces are so close together that he can feel every puff of air that leaves his lips.

“I will never hurt you, Mikey,” Calum says, “and I’m clearly not straight, and I will hold your hand in front of whoever you want, and you are enough. You’re enough for me. And I love you, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner or tell you when I did but I love you.”

“Jesus, I love you too, asshole,” Michael says, pressing his lips to Calum’s again. “I love you too.”

They sleep in together, on Saturday mornings. Sometimes until ridiculously late hours. Michael presses his face into Calum's neck, and their legs tangle together, and everything fits like Lego. Calum usually wakes up first, and sometimes he just lies there for hours, feeling Michael breathing, hyper aware of every part of them that is touching.

Ashton is completely gob smacked, Luke rolls his eyes and says _Finally_ , Michael’s parents smile fondly like they knew it would happen eventually, Calum’s parents don’t even bat an eyelid.

They still sneak out, on Sunday nights. And even when things get complicated, when they argue and Michael turns cold, and Calum won't talk about anything that matters, even when it feels like nothing belongs to just _them anymore_ , they still have Sunday Nights. They still have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> title from heart out by the 1975 which is my jam
> 
> also pls cry with me fairyflossclifford.tumblr.com


End file.
